


A Good Day

by Tomboyshapeshifter



Series: Abyss of Inksanity [6]
Category: Bendy and the Ink Machine
Genre: Gore, Wally is on the hunt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-24
Updated: 2020-05-24
Packaged: 2021-03-03 05:26:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24345736
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tomboyshapeshifter/pseuds/Tomboyshapeshifter
Summary: A look in the life of Wally Franks as he looks for supplies in the studio.  One thing in particular brings back old instincts from his past from before his life as the simple janitor.
Series: Abyss of Inksanity [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1757638
Kudos: 4





	A Good Day

**Author's Note:**

> I originally wrote this for a friend of mine based on an AU we made for an old askblog on tumblr called Abyss of Inksanity. The blog is now shut down though i still have a great love for it. I love bendy and the ink machine i love this incarnation of Wally and Norman and so... I decided just to post all the fics on here. Most wouldn't have worked on the blog anyway so I hope you guys enjoy.
> 
> Also in this AU, Wally has a very thick accent. I tried to make it as recognizable as possible. Reading it outloud might help.

The shuddering of the pipes rang in Wally’s ears as the creaks and groans echoed in the decrypted halls. The sharp clack of his broomstick tapping against the walls as he walked became a steady rhythm to whistle too.

His steps were light and with just the right amount of bounce that allowed him to fly down the stairs in 3 to 4 steps. Red curls bounced on top of his usually inky head, as today was a rare kind of day.

Today was a good day. At the very least a decent day for the type of life that they led in this miserable place. He was breathing with ease, as his lungs were normally thick with the ooze of that dreadful ink. His sight was clear and focused as he kept watch for any potential threat. Usually his vision would have this coating over it like a decayed film reel. Making everything have this blurred tinge to the edges, only becoming worse when moving. 

But today, after a long time, he actually felt alive, rather than the shambling corpse that he usually was. The edges of his lips spreading wide as a chuckle slipped passed.

He wasn’t the only one as Angel was in a good mood that day, no hysterical fits of rage or anything being destroyed. She even said please when she asked him to gather her items. Then Wally was gifted with the sight of Sammy slipping in a puddle of ink and slamming face first into the floor. 

But the best part, THE best part was the look on Norman’s face when he brought up the coffee incident to him, was priceless. The man must have thought that he never knew, that it was just history beneath their feet. Oh, but the pure giddiness that he felt from the others recoil. He couldn’t help himself as he tortured the other more and more with wicked teasing. The redness of his olive cheeks as he diverted his glowing eyes from him was delicious. Feeding his mischievous nature to the point of bursting.

His lips pulled tighter as he noticed an Edgar down below the next floor, so in quick succession leapt up, grasping onto one of the thinner pipes above him and with momentum swung into the air, skipping the flight of stairs completely and landing behind the Edgar.

With a gargled screech the toon swung after him, missing the fleet footed Janitor as he took hold of the broom handle and swung down hard upon the other’s head, using the force to send the toon to the ground with a thud. His foot finding a firm place hold onto its stomach, the toon struggling and grasping the leg in desperation, wishing to be set free.

“Now, now.” He purred, reaching into his shirt, pulling out a knife in one smooth motion. His foot stomping down harder onto the toons stomach, causing him to chuckle as a painful groan escaped. “Dere ain't any use in tryin' tuh escape. ‘kay? “

Getting down on one knee he used his free hand as leverage, pressing it against Edgar’s face. Lifting up the knife, the glistening of the low light reflecting against the aged metal stained of blood and ink. Edgar’s eyes widened, witnessing the thing that would bring him death, his body movements becoming more sporadic, trying to escape its fate. 

It was always a quick and easy job, especially for him after doing it for over thirty years now. The heart was still warm in his hand as he wiped the blade onto his already stained pants. The glow could almost be comforting if it weren’t for where it was coming from. 

“One down, three mawh tuh go.” He said, placing the heart into an official Bendy bag. The image having long ago distorted, looking very similar to the dancing devils face as it is now a days. 

Taking care to put the knife back to where he could easily grasp it and the broomstick back in hand he started his journey once more. The taping soon leading to whistling as he walked down the halls again.

The smile still ever present on his ink stained face.


End file.
